


The Dearly Departed

by totheletter



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheletter/pseuds/totheletter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a sudden tragedy sends Josh Hamilton's world off-kilter, he needs someone to help him stay grounded. Cue a level-headed man named Kinsler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dearly Departed

**Disclaimer:** This story has been notarized as completely false. No intent to harm or defame those mentioned herein.

Josh was working in his yard, pushing the dinged-up, red manual lawn mower up under some crepe myrtle bushes. His hands were numb from the vibrations rattling the mower's handlebar and his shirt was soaked through with sweat that rolled down his chest in the thick summer air. He turned off the mower and stood back, admiring the even cut of the soft green grass. He decided to take a break and went inside, grateful for the artificial dry coolness that swirled around him when he opened the door.

He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and gulped it down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a red blinking light on his answering machine. Someone must have called while he was outside. He walked over and hit the playback button. He fanned himself with a magazine as the machine's electronic voice informed him the message came in at 2:46 p.m. Josh glanced at the kitchen clock. It had been about an hour ago.

His mother’s voice came out of the tinny speaker. "Josh, this is Momma. It's about a quarter of three. We’re at the hospital."

Hamilton’s blood ran cold. He put the water bottle down and braced his arms on the counter as he leaned in closer to the machine.

"Your daddy's had a heart attack. The doctors don’t know what's gonna happen. I think you need to get over here."

Hamilton was out the door within seconds. In the four hours it took him to drive from Asheville to Raleigh, his father was gone.

Josh sat stiffly between his mother and brother at the service three days later. His back cried out for some relief from the hard pine church pew and he was pretty sure he'd sweat right through the white dress shirt he wore under his black suit. He tugged at his collar, trying to loosen the suffocating tie around his neck. He glanced over at his brother Jason, who seemed to be as uncomfortable as he was. After the service came the graveside. That was just for the family, and frankly, Hamilton preferred it that way. The days leading up to the funeral had been a reunion of everyone Josh knew growing up, and many he didn't. The whole town must have come out of the woodwork for his father's burial, and shortly after the actual interment they all piled into cars and trucks and drove out the long, curving road to his parents' house for the wake.

"He was a real good man, Josh. A real good man."

Josh vaguely remembered the man shaking his hand as the pharmacist from his hometown. He muttered his thanks and moved on to another part of the crowded living room. Distant relatives, friends he hadn’t seen since high school and complete strangers filled every corner of the room, spilling down the hallway and into the kitchen.

One of his aunts lunged out of the crowd with a casserole dish. "Mrs. Lovell brought this mac-and-cheese. Where should I put it?"

Josh gestured toward the hallway. "In the kitchen with the others."

Seeking an escape, Hamilton excused himself and weaved his way down the hall and through the kitchen, stepping through the door and onto the quiet back porch. He sat down on the top of the steps that led to the spacious green backyard where his old practice batting cage stood. His father built it more years ago than Hamilton could remember.

Josh's suit sagged with wetness from the humidity, making him even more uncomfortable. He put his face in his hands, his breath trembling slightly. He heard the door open, followed by footsteps across the weathered boards of the back porch. A hand touched his shoulder, and though he really wasn’t in the mood to talk to yet another red-eyed mourner, funerals are polite affairs in the South and he stood up, preparing to wrap a sniffling relative in his arms. But when he looked up, it was a different face that greeted him.

Ian Kinsler, tall and slim, stood before him. He wore a plain black suit and tie, and his expression of considerate concern reminded Josh strongly of the funeral home director that made his dad’s arrangements. Hamilton stood and embraced him tightly, closing his eyes.

"Ian," he said. "I didn’t know you were coming."

Kinsler returned the hug. "News travels fast."

Josh released him, his hand grazing over a piece of fabric on Ian's head. "Oh, man. I messed up your hat."

Kinsler adjusted it, smiling a little. "Yarmulke," he corrected.

"Right. Sorry. You came all the way out here from Arizona?"

Kinsler nodded.

Hamilton was astonished. "Why?"

Ian shrugged, as though his traveling more than 2,000 miles at a moment's notice was a settled matter from the start. "Thought you might need me."

"I'm really glad you did. Daddy always liked you."

Ian looked down at his shoes, nodding. "I always liked him, too. How's your mom?"

Josh sighed and put his hands in his pockets. "We're all just kind of minute-to-minute. Sometimes, she's fine. I turn around and she’s bawling."

Kinsler's eyes locked onto Josh's. "And what about you?"

Hamilton shrugged noncommittally. "Jason and I have to be the strong ones here."

Another relative – Josh thought it might be a cousin on his dad's side – stuck his head out the door. "Josh, your mom’s looking for you."

Hamilton looked at Kinsler, smiling apologetically. "I gotta--"

Ian held up his hand. "I got it. I'll hang around. We can talk later."

The hordes dressed in black finally began filing out around seven. Josh’s mother and brother started cleaning up in the kitchen and Josh loosened the infernal tie. He felt the circulation return to his neck and drew a deep breath of relief. He walked into the living room, where he saw Kinsler seated on the couch. He was flipping through a _Reader's Digest_ that was about six months older than he was. Hamilton sat down next to him.

"Apparently, this Ronald Reagan guy is a big deal," Kinsler said, jabbing a finger into the magazine. "He's keeping an eye on those Soviets."

Mrs. Hamilton shuffled into the room. "Ian," she said, adopting a half-smile. "I didn't realize you were still here. Thank you so much for coming all this way."

"It’s no problem, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Josh, your brother and I decided to put off going through Tony's study until the weekend. I'm just in no shape for it."

Josh raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You sure, Momma?"

"Yes. But that'll give you boys some time to catch up, anyway. Ian, you don't have to go back right now, do you?"

Ian shook his head. "No, ma'am. I can get a flight out whenever."

Josh slapped Ian's arm. "Hey, then you could stay here for the night! Would that be all right, Momma?"

She smiled warmly. "Of course. I think we got an old sleeping bag around here somewhere."

Kinsler looked surprised. "No, I couldn’t--"

"Come on, man," Josh said, his eyes doing as much pleading as his words. "Please?"

"On one condition," Ian said. "Can I change out of this damn suit?"

*****

  
Josh searched through the clothes in his old bedroom closet, looking for something that would fit Ian. "A lot of this stuff is Jason's, but I think some of it's still mine. My parents never threw anything away."

Kinsler sat on Hamilton's old double bed, his eyes taking in the shelves of baseball trophies, framed photos and mementoes of Josh's youth. It was like a museum of his childhood.

"So this is where the legend of Josh Hamilton began," he said. "Shouldn't there be tours and a gift shop or something? Am I sitting on a historical site?"

Hamilton arched an eyebrow and tossed a red T-shirt onto Ian’s head. "Smart ass."

Kinsler laughed and began unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Thanks for letting me stay over."

"I should thank you for staying," Josh replied. He took off his shoes and slacks and put on a pair of shorts. "Momma, me and Jason in this house is weird enough. It's like going back in time. Nice to have someone from the present around."

That night, long after Ian had fallen asleep in the sleeping bag next to Hamilton's bed, Josh lay awake. He hadn't slept since the day he'd gotten his mother's call from the hospital. He hadn't talked about it with her or with Jason, because he figured everyone was under stress; why should his be more important than anyone else's? He lay awake for hours, listening to the breeze outside his window and Ian snoring on the floor.

The next morning, Josh opened the worn, wooden door of his father's toolshed and looked inside. His workbenches were in the same place they always were. Small hummocks of sawdust lumped up under them, remnants of the raw materials that became chairs and spice racks Josh passed on his way through the kitchen. He slowly walked toward the table saw his dad forbid him to touch when he was a child. Josh ran his hand over the cool metal surface. The blade must have been a new one; it was still shiny and not yet coated with a thick layer of sawdust. Josh briefly looked over the tools hanging on the walls, and the boxes of Lord-knows-what stacked in a corner.

He heard footsteps approaching and he turned around to see Ian step over a threshold and into the shed. His thick, shaggy hair was still frozen into choppy waves of sleep, and he held a mug of coffee in his right hand. "Your mom said you’d be out here," he said.

Josh turned back around to the saw. "Yeah. I'm just looking through here to see what we can keep, and what we need to get rid of."

"I, uh, I woke up about three this morning, and you weren't in your room. I looked downstairs, and you were down in the living room watching TV."

Josh didn't look at him. "And?"

"I don’t know, man. Have you been sleeping at all lately?"

"I'm fine, Kins."

"I'm just saying, I know it's all, 'gotta be strong,' but it's okay to be upset, too. The macho switch has to have an OFF position."

Irritated, Josh turned around. "Drop it, Ian. I’m _fine_."

Kinsler backed up a step. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Anyway. Your mom made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. You should come in."

That night after dinner, Ian sat on the sofa, eating a slice of one of the dozen pies neighbors had dropped off after the funeral. The TV was on, but muted. Josh walked into the room, cracking open a bottle of orange soda. He handed another to Ian.

"Here. Got you one, too."

Ian put it on the coffee table. "Thanks, man. I'm gonna gain fifty pounds before I leave."

Josh chuckled. "How are your parents?"

Ian swallowed a piece of pie. "Good. They're good. They live just a few miles from me. I see ‘em about once a week or so. Mom still thinks it's like I moved to the other side of the world." He shrugged in a _what're ya gonna do?_ pose. "What about you? How’s retirement?"

"Well, if you can call being unemployed at 39 'retirement,' I guess it’s pretty dang good."

"No more practices? No more drills? No more sweating your ass off in Texas in August? Enough money not to care?" Ian took a swig of the soda. "Sounds pretty dang good to me."

Jason came into the room. "Hey, Josh. There you are," he said. He handed Josh a small card. "Found this when I was going through some of Dad's papers. I thought you’d like to have it."

Josh held the card carefully, as though the slightest flinch would shatter it. His face contorted with sorrow. "Yeah. Thanks. Thanks, Jason."

Jason left, and Ian tried to look over Josh's shoulder to see what the object was. Hamilton handed it to him. The tiny image that stared out from the thin cardboard rectangle was that of a freckled, blue-eyed kid wearing a slightly-too-big Devil Rays jersey. He peered down into the camera lens, smiling. Two baseball bats were held over his left shoulder. A box at the top left-hand corner of the card informed Ian that this was rookie outfielder Josh Hamilton.

"I miss him, Kins." Josh’s voice sounded weak and distant.

Ian put his plate down and wrapped an arm around Josh’s shoulders. "I know, buddy. It's all right."

"You don’t understand. Daddy made all the decisions," Hamilton said. "He was my little league coach. He got me my deal with the Rays. He came with me to the minors. If I was in a slump, I'd call him and ask what I should do."

Ian nodded, unsure what to say.

Hamilton continued: "He was always there for me. Always." Tears welled in his eyes. "When I got those stupid tattoos, he worried about me. And when I called him from rehab and told him I was leavin', he came to the airport to get me. He did everything for me, Kins. And I put him through so much."

Hamilton closed his eyes and the tears spilled out, streaming down his face. "I put him through so much," he stammered.

Ian wrapped Josh in a tight hug, stroking his back. "No, man. No. You made him proud."

Hamilton sobbed into Ian's shoulder. When he mustered the power to speak, all he could say was, "He's gone. He's gone, Ian."

Kinsler held him tightly for several minutes as Josh's bravado eroded like a sand castle in the onrushing tide. He sobbed, his shoulders heaving with each shaky breath. When finally the tears subsided, Josh pulled his face away from Ian's soaked shirt and wiped his nose.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I didn't mean...I didn't know that was gonna happen."

Ian rubbed Josh's side. "Hey, no. Don't apologize. It's okay."

Hamilton rubbed his red, swollen eyes and tried to get himself back together. Ian watched with a sympathetic expression. "Josh, how 'bout we go to bed, huh? It's been a long day."

Josh sniffled. "Yeah. You’re right."

Ian switched off the television and followed Josh up the stairs to his bedroom. Ian took off his pants and slid into the sleeping bag on the floor. Hamilton crawled into the bed and switched off the light. Several moments passed in which all that could be heard was the constant din of crickets outside.

Josh's plaintive voice broke the silence. "Kins?"

"Yeah, man. What is it?"

"Could you -- I mean, would it be all right...could you just come up here?"

Ian sat up. "What?"

"Would you mind just, just getting up here? With me?"

Kinsler got out of the sleeping bag and climbed onto Josh's bed. "I just wanted you up here, is all," Josh said, staring up at the ceiling. "I haven't slept, Kins. You were right. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. This has been the worst week I've had since I cleaned up."

Almost instinctively, Ian reached out and lightly touched Hamilton's stomach. He didn't think much of it, and his hand began to slide across Josh's T-shirt. He wasn't sure if Hamilton didn't care or if he just didn't notice, but he wasn't slugging Kinsler and throwing him out of the house, so he must have been doing something right.

"Daddy was a rock," Josh said. "It didn't matter how bad things got. He just knew what to do. He just knew somehow, you know?"

Ian continued rubbing Josh's belly. Hamilton felt the warmth of his hand through the thin T-shirt. It felt good. Kinsler's hand went slightly lower on one pass, and ran into Josh's swelling erection. They both looked down in surprise.

Josh felt his face flush hot with embarrassment. "Geez, I'm sorry. It's been, you know. I haven’t...in a while, and this week’s been all upside-down. I'm not a creep, I promise."

Ian stifled a laugh. "Don't worry about it. Seriously." He bit his bottom lip, weighing his options. "Guess I'm making you feel better, though."

It hadn't occurred to Josh until Ian said it, but yeah. He _was_ making Josh feel better. His presence. His empathy. His touch. All of them made Hamilton feel better. Safer.

Kinsler let his fingertips graze over the length of the bulge in Josh's briefs. Hamilton looked at him. Ian raised his eyebrows in question. Hamilton hesitated, then nodded. Kinsler's fingers traced lines up and down Hamilton's cotton-encased swell. He sat up and tugged at the waistband.

"Okay?"

"Y--yeah."

"You can say no, Josh. If this isn--"

Hamilton grasped Ian's wrist. "It's okay, Kins."

Josh lifted his hips a little. Kinsler smiled and pulled the underwear down, allowing Josh's thick erection to stretch in the humid night air. He shifted his body into a position straddling Josh's strong legs. His right hand wrapped around Josh's cock and he gave it a light squeeze.

He looked up and saw uneasiness in Josh's expression. He rested his free hand on Hamilton's stomach. "Hey. It's okay, buddy. I got you."

Hamilton's body relaxed under Ian. Kinsler gently stroked Josh's heavy shaft. The older man closed his eyes and sighed.

Ian kept the pace steady, taking long, slow passes. Up and down. Graze over the hot, sticky head. Back down again. "Look at me, Josh. It's just the two of us. No one else in the world. Nothing else to worry about. Just you and me."

Josh let out a choked cry as his dick swelled in Ian's hand and began pumping out his load. Three, four, five, six jets. A seventh simply bubbled to the top and dripped down, forming a rivulet down Ian's curled fingers.

Hamilton stared at Ian for a long, quiet moment. His chest was sticky with sweat and his heart pounded. Kinsler climbed off him and looked around the dimly-lit room.

"Do you keep any paper towels or tissues in here, or something?" he asked.

Hamilton reached over to the nightstand and pulled a drawer open. "In there."

Kinsler retrieved a box of Kleenex and wiped his hand off, then Josh’s stomach. "Ah, don’t worry about it," Hamilton said, yawning. "Just lay down."

Ian got back in the bed. Josh rolled over and snuggled close to him, wrapping an arm around Kinsler's torso. Ian was warm and strong, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath lulled Josh. His eyelids grew heavy, and closed. For the first time in nearly a week, Hamilton slept.

*****

  
When Josh awoke, the sun was up and his skin was already damp with sweat. He put some shorts on and wandered downstairs. Ian was at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and reading the morning paper. He glanced up as he heard Josh enter the room.

"Hey, man."

"Hey." Josh scratched his chest and poured himself a mug of coffee. "Mom and Jason around?"

"Nope. They went into town to talk with the lawyer about the will."

Hamilton nodded and sat down at the table. He pulled the sports section toward him and flipped to the baseball box scores.

Ian looked up from the comics page. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

Kinsler's stomach tightened with tension. "Uh, well. This is probably an inappropriate thing to bring up, and a bad time to do it, but what we did last night."

Josh glanced up. "Yeah?"

"I know you've been going through a really rough time. I mean, it's been stressful and all..."

Hamilton blew out an impatient breath. "Ask what you're gonna ask, Ian."

"Did you let me do... _that_ , because you wanted to, or because a death in the family does strange things to people?"

Josh looked up from the paper, studying Ian for a moment. "That's what you think? That I let you touch my junk because I'm insane with grief?"

"No, of course not," Ian replied. "Unless, y'know, it's true."

Hamilton put his coffee mug down and reached for Ian's hand. He held it in his own, rubbing it gently with his thumb. "Kins, you're helping keep me from going insane. I don't know if I'd have survived this week if you hadn't stuck around. Yes. I did it because I wanted to. I trust you."

He picked the mug back up and took a sip. "How 'bout you?" he said. "Did you jack me off because you felt sorry for me?"

Ian shook his head. "No. I wanted to."

Josh shrugged. "Okay, then."

"So, was it a one-time thing, or...?"

Hamilton considered the question. It was one worth asking. "I don't want it to be."

Ian felt relief wash over him. "Me either."

"Don't you have to go back out to Arizona?" Josh asked.

Kinsler tapped his spoon on the Formica tabletop as he thought. "I got an extra room."

"That's a coincidence," Josh said. "So do I."

"Sounds like we got ourselves a plan, then," Ian replied. He raised his glass of orange juice in a toast. Hamilton responded with his mug. "Oh, hey," Kinsler said, wiping a drop of milk off his lower lip. "You left this on the coffee table last night." He stretched toward the kitchen counter and grabbed the rookie card. He handed it to Hamilton. "I thought you might want to save it, or something."

Josh studied the card. He could hardly recognize the boyish face staring back at him, frozen in a perpetual forced smile. The card was like a time machine -- no, it was a time _capsule_. A static view of a boy trapped in time. He didn't have the slightest the clue of the freight train barreling toward him. His arms were free of ink, and his bloodstream flowed free of the drugs that would later fill it. Maybe, Hamilton thought, his father held onto it all these years because it reminded him of what Josh used to be. In this card, he still held the world in the palm of his hand, with possibilities as wide and open as the Carolina skies under which he used to play.

He put the card down and looked at Ian, whose head bobbed slightly in tempo to a song he softly hummed. Ian knew Josh as he actually was, befriended him after the drugs and the alcohol, when he had no real reason to. He'd never spoken a negative word about Hamilton, didn't shy away from him like some of the other players. To Kinsler, Josh was never damaged goods, a guy who'd been given too many chances to get it right. Ian _got_ Josh, sometimes even better than he got himself. He stuck close when Josh needed him, and gave him some space when Josh didn't. And out of all the men he shared the field with, only Ian bothered to show up at his father’s funeral. Didn't think anything about it, just hopped on a plane east because he knew somehow that Josh would need him.

Ian put another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "What'cha thinking?"

Josh slid the card away. "About how happy you make me."

"Funny," Ian said, smiling. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."


End file.
